Page 70 of Beautifully Scarred Omega

“Mr. Preston, you don’t have to⁠—”

“I want to.” His voice leaves no room for argument. “Let me make sure your mother is getting the best possible care. That’s the least I can do. Now, I think you should go and be with her. And Angela?”

“Yes?”

“If there’s anything else we can do, anything at all, you let me know. Okay?”

Angela goes quiet for a moment. “Thank you, Mr. Preston. Thank you so much.”

I hear movement, the scrape of a chair, footsteps approaching the door.

I grab my wallet from my desk, and I’m moving for the exit before Angela can reach the door, making sure she doesn’t see me.

The last thing I catch, through the glass wall of his office, is Finn already on the phone, his brow furrowed and his free hand braced against the desk, calling that doctor he mentioned, I’m guessing. He doesn’t even see me go.

Family comes first. That’s the most important thing.

This is the same man who told me my dress made me look naked and demanded daily meetings to micromanage my every move. The same man who’s been cold and hostile since the moment I walked into this building.

And he just offered to call in personal favors for an employee’s sick mother, without hesitation, because it was the right thing to do.

I’m already through the doors and into the corridor before I remember I was supposed to be meeting Celine.

I need some air.

I need to think.

I need to figure out why, for just a second there, Finn Preston sounded like someone I might actually want to know.

CHAPTER 20

Ethan

Sophie arrives just after five.

I watch from my bedroom window as she parks near the side entrance and steps out of the car. She’s still wearing her office clothes, black pants and a white dress shirt, but her hair is in a haphazard ponytail, like she just grabbed it and twisted it out of her face, little pieces escaping at her temples.

It’s messy. Unpolished. Like she did it without thinking about who’d see her.

I shake the thought away and head for the stairs.

By the time I reach the ground floor, Max is already at the front door, pulling it open. Finn is in the living room, sprawled on the leather couch with a glass of whiskey in his hand, trying his best to look casual, but I can feel the tension radiating from him ten feet away.

A little early for whiskey, even by Finn’s standards, but I don’t mention it.

“Sophie.” Max steps aside, gesturing her in. “Come in.”

She crosses the threshold.

“Hey, Soph.” I spread my arms wide, offering her a warm smile. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

She looks at me, and for just a second something softens at the corner of her mouth, like she’s fighting off a smile.

“Thanks,” she says, her eyes traveling around the room with quiet curiosity.

Overstuffed leather couches sit around a stone fireplace, bookshelves so full the books are stacked horizontally on top of the vertical ones, a Persian rug that Finn haggled for at an estate sale and has refused to replace despite years of wear.

A clutter of things around the room—a throw blanket draped over one arm of the couch, a half-empty coffee mug on the side table, my reading glasses folded on top of a book.